One of Those Days
by Pheo
Summary: It was just one of those days. Response to the Unbound Weekly Challenge.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: PG

Summary: Response to October 18th Unbound Challenge. First and Last lines provided with 1,000 maximum in between.

Spoilers: I don't think so...

One of Those Days

By Pheo

October 20, 2004

"Shut up Greg, you're dead." Sara gave Greg a bit of a kick to remind him to lay still.

"Sorry, Sara," he whispered, scrunching his eyes closed and sticking his tongue out. He lay flat on the layout room floor, with his arms stretched at his sides.

She smiled as she mentally calculated the angle at which he lay. Pulling his legs to the left, she adjusted the bend of his knees. She pulled an arm up across his chest and tilted her head once more. Something just wasn't right.

"Have you figured it out yet?"

"Quiet!" She sighed. "You're hopeless, Greg."

"Hey, I don't mind. Take all day moving me the way you like it. Maybe I'll learn something for...future use." He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, even with his eyes still closed.

She laughed out loud. "Fat chance, Greggo." She circled him, craning her neck. What was missing?

"Yeah, I know who's got dibs on you. I'm not stupid, Sara."

She stopped abruptly, her back rigid. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He opened his eyes, knowing he'd said too much but going on anyway. "Sara, it's past time somebody got you guys together. This little dance is driving everybody crazy. You're like fifth graders who are too scared to cross the gym during the first school dance."

She cleared her throat nervously. "Um, I don't know who you're talking about, Greg, but-

He sat up. "Oh please, you know exactly who I'm talking about! A certain entomologist who sulks around the lab and moons after you like nobody's business? Ringing any bells?"

Her face turned bright red. "I really think that you have no idea how wrong you are. You--you just-- Lay back down so I can finish this report." Flustered, she ruffled through her notes, dotting a few i's for good measure.

He sighed, laying back down. "You can pretend anything you want, but you're in denial. Everyone knows that you're completely hot for Grissom."

"I wouldn't say 'hot for'," she muttered, rustling another page.

"I heard that!" Greg sounded triumphant. "So what would you call it?"

She shook her head at him. "Not gonna go there, Greg."

"Come on! You know you're just bursting to tell someone! What would you call it? Come on, Sara, here and now, admit it. Call it!"

She felt her throat go dry. "Smitten?" She murmured, locking eyes with him.

His face grew tight. "You know he's head over heels for you."

She shook her head and gave a desperate laugh. "We are so not talking about this." She quickly moved to his side, already pushing him back into place. "I need you to lay on your side--"

"Sara, he's just scared--"

"This discussion is over--"

He was determined to provoke her to action. "If you would just tell him--"

She was already back in investigator mode. "I need you to lay sideways, facing left."

He sighed. "Sara--"

Her eyes flashed angrily. "Not another word, Greg!"

He gave her a long look, then settled back down.

She bit her lip, going over her notes. Agitated, she shook herself and flipped through the few pages. She quickly realized what was missing.

"Take off your shoes, Greg."

He sat up immediately and crawled into a standing position. "Okay, this experiment just got too weird for me. Do you know what happened last time Grissom asked me to take my shoes off?"

"Was it really all that bad?"

They both turned at the sound of Grissom's soft question. Greg raised his eyebrows, suddenly feeling foolish. Sara bit her lip, silently asking Grissom how much he'd heard.

His eyes bore into hers. Greg silently slipped out of the room as Grissom slowly stepped forward.

"Smitten?" The velvet in his voice sent a wave of shivers over her and the room grew smaller. His face was unsmiling but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

She trembled, both pleased and nervous. "Wha-what would you call it?"

"On my end? Infatuated?" He shrugged lightly, moving closer.

"Griss--" he cut her off by placing a finger over her lips and suddenly she couldn't speak if she wanted to. The heat from his body was all around her now and she wasn't aware of anything else--nothing in the world--just the slightly rough texture of his palm on her cheek, the haunted yearning in his eyes directly mirroring her own, the questioning tilt of his head as he leaned in...

She pulled back. "We're in the lab," she whispered uncertainly.

Cloudy, confused eyes first stared, then widened slightly at her keen observation. He didn't miss a beat. "Would you like to come over for breakfast?"

She swallowed. "Shift isn't over yet, Griss."

He smiled. "You're avoiding the question, Miss Sidle."

She smiled back, regaining her composure. "I'll bring berries."

"I'll see you at eight, then." He bowed his head at her and left her there wondering what had just happened.

Greg watched carefully as Grissom strode out of the layout room with a grin on his face. Saunturing past the DNA lab, he began whistling, thinking about Sara and berries.

Greg moaned aloud. His chances with Sara, which had always been slim, were now out the window. Both pleased and angry with himself, he turned up his Hoobastank and wailed, "What have I done? My love! My life!"

Brass stuck his head in the room to see what all the commotion was about, and gave Greg one of his most sardonic glares.

Greg continued to dance mournfully around the room, unaware of Brass's presence, crooning something about a "reason to beeeee." He grabbed the corner of the counter, sagging his head, and abrubtly spun around, draping his arm dramatically across his forhead. "And the reason is yooooouuu."

Brass knew it was going to be one of those days.


End file.
